


Tansy

by Blaiser



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaiser/pseuds/Blaiser
Summary: Ramsay is frustrated with Fat Walda's pregnancy so he decides to go for a hunt to clear his mind.





	Tansy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spankingfemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spankingfemme/gifts).



> This is written for the lovely spankingfemme. If you are into bottomRamsay and femdom (or just a good piece of fanfic) you should read her piece "A Need to Suffer". 
> 
> This story involves rape and other kinds of abuse. If this upsets you in any way, please don't read on.

“ _There is no wine so sweet as wine taken from a foe_ ”

 - from George R.R. Martin’s “A Feast for Crows”

 

The late afternoon mist cloaked the forest; tendrils of fog slithering over its moss-covered floor and around the base of oaks like phantom snakes.

With the agility worthy of a stalking feline and his bow held low at the ready with arrow nocked, Ramsay moved slowly and stealthily between trees; the leather boots cladding his feet effectively preventing any noise that could betray his presence to the quarry he sought, a wild boar sow flanked by a scrawny squeaker no more than a few months old. Blissfully unaware of the looming threat to her life or that of her offspring, the sow lingered twenty yards away from Ramsay’s position with tusks buried deep in the dirt, digging for earthworms. She was a huge beast,  larger than any sow Ramsay had ever laid eyes on; weighing close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and with lower canines as long and deadly sharp as those usually only seen attached onto the males of her species.

Ramsay had happened upon their lair that very same morning when he was out scouting for prey in the southern parts of the Wolfswood, a few hours ride from Winterfell. Securing his steed to a nearby tree, he had snuck up on the boars and gotten so close he could almost taste their musky stink on his tongue, when suddenly the piglet had given off a loud ear-piercing squeal. Even though Ramsay had reacted as quick as he could, drawing back the string of his bow split-seconds away from releasing the deadly arrow, he had been no match for the boar’s reflexes and speed. Squealing and snorting, the prey fled through the thick underbrush where Ramsay couldn’t follow, leaving him standing next to the now empty lair, glaring bitterly after them.

The massiveness of the boar, the width of its hindquarters and broadness of its thick skull had reminded him of Fat Walda Frey, and re-opened a dark cave of anger and spite in his heart, and even though there were plenty of other quarry around, much easier prey than a desperate boar with razor-sharp tusks waiting somewhere in the underbrush to rip him open from balls to brains, he had picked up the hunt nevertheless. Ramsay knew his blood-thirst could only be quenched by killing this particular beast, so the risks involved in doing so was of little concern to him.

_Walda Frey…Walda Bolton…_

The thought of the hefty bitch laying claim to his family name, a name he had fought with ferocious determination for over two decades to earn, made the nausea rise inside his throat from pure loathing. Ramsay had paid his due in blood, sweat and humility, had suffered Roose’s mind-games year in year out, taken blow after vicious blow of his verbal abuse and risked his life on several occasions when his father had asked him to; all in the hope that he would one day become legitimized and be able to call himself a Bolton. He had suffered for it. He had bled for it, while Walda just had to spread her fat legs apart every once in a while to keep his father content. Of course, the spreading of legs was also the reason for the grief he now suffered and why he was out here in the middle of nowhere, taking his frustration over his stepmother entering his life, out on an random animal instead of her.

Ramsay recalled the metallic taste of blood in his mouth when Roose the night before first passed on the news at the dinner table, and how he had bit the inside of his cheek trying to supress the feeling of murderous rage and bitter bewilderment that had flooded his being in that very moment. Sansa had been next to him, a faint smile twisted her fair features when they learned that Fat Walda was with child. When Roose then added that the newcomer was most likely a boy, Ramsay had almost bit his own tongue off. A boy meant the rules of the game had changed, that Ramsay had become expendable. With two heirs, Roose could have his pick of the litter and Ramsay did not like his chances given how many times his father had openly expressed his dissapointment with him.

That night his grievance had been taken out on Sansa, and he had made her regret giving him that fuckin’ smirk. Despite the many hours of abuse he had bestowed upon his wife, the corrosive anger had not dwindled in the least afterwards, in fact it only succeeded in making him angrier. He knew that the only way to keep it under control was to kill something. Unfortunately, Sansa was off limits for such purposes, so the only way to get release was to go hunting. Even though he would had preferred his prey to be of the two-legged kind (human beings always made for the best hunts), there were no prisoners or attractive girls left at Winterfell; Ramsay and Myranda had hunted down the last one just a fortnight past and put an arrow in her stomach, then let the bitches take care of the rest. He had already forgotten her name, but remembered how she had squirmed beneath him as he took her by force, Myranda standing by watching them as she always did with that evil twinkle etched in her amber eyes.

He had left Winterfell in the early morning hours without telling anyone of his plans, bringing only his bow and knife with him. Riding through the gate, he looked up and spotted Myranda staring down at him from the castle wall with a hurt look on her face. Ignoring her gaze, Ramsay kicked the horse’s sides and galloped over the drawbridge and down the road that lead into the Wolfswoods. This was something he needed to attend to on his own, and she knew better than to follow him.

Wanting to get within half range before making his move, Ramsay closed the distance between himself and the boars with prudent steps. He had almost made it, when suddenly the piglet gave a loud squeal and turned, staring directly at him with its beady little eyes. He froze in place, muscles tense with eyes narrowed at his prey. The sow, reacting to her offspring’s warning, pulled her head out of the ground and stood for a prolonged moment listening to the sounds of the forest, before burying her snout in moss and dirt once again. The piglet kept staring at him and Ramsay held his breath until the animal finally turned its attention back to the ground.

He exhaled silently, then drew back on the bow string and took aim at the sow’s belly, deliberately going for a non-mortal wound. He wanted to see the beast suffer first, the piglet grunting as his mother lay dying beside him, awaiting his own inevitable demise. A split second before Ramsay released the arrow and heard the string sing a loud, clear note, the piglet squealed yet again. This time, as per que, the sow pulled her head from the dirt and stormed forward with the piglet right at her heels. The arrow missed its mark by a matter of mere inches (from where Ramsay stood it even seemed to graze the piglet’s tail-tip, it was that close) before it hit a tree with a _thunk!_ Before Ramsay could nock a second arrow and send it flying, the boars had disappeared into the thick underbrush, leaving branches swaying in their wake.


End file.
